


What They Can Never Have

by Durinsbride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durinsbride/pseuds/Durinsbride
Summary: Dean and Sam deal with the aftermath of Sam's violent death in the cave...A fic inspired by a series of posts on Tumblr after episode 13x22,Exodus, and the lovely (very private) bro-hug scene contained therein. Special thanks to Eugara of Tumblr for all the inspiration and subtle encouragement.





	What They Can Never Have

“Thought I lost you, man.”

Dean heard the minuscule break in his voice, and when his throat tightened up like he couldn’t breathe, that was his cue to let his brother go before it got any worse. This was not the time for any of that shit, not when they had to get Mom ready to go, round up the kid, and deal with the freaking devil (again).

So he pulled away, even though every instinct told him not to, even though he felt like he could spend the next decade holding Sam close, arms wrapped around the wide expanse of his brother’s back, his ear pressed tight to Sam’s throat, where he could feel the soft throb of his brother’s pulse. The sensation grounded him, because there was the irrefutable proof that Sam was alive, breathing, whole. It was only when he was like this that he felt truly sane, complete; because when Sam was upright, walking and talking and mostly safe, that meant he hadn’t failed him.

He swallowed hard and stepped back, darting a glance about the campsite in case anyone was around–he didn’t want anybody to see this shit. This was for them and no one else, he didn’t want to make a scene. So, best to get back to the task at hand–

Another swallow.

“What are we gonna do about Lucifer?”

_Time to focus on brass tacks._

“I’ll handle him.”

Sam’s voice sounded rough, gravel-hard and raw, like his throat was still healing from being torn open–

Dean shut down that line of thought immediately. He’d spent enough time reliving that moment in the cave, damn if he was gonna do it again.

He leveled his eyes at his brother, mouth in a grim line. _Focus on the job._ To that end, he cast a skeptical glance at Sam, because he knew nothing got Sammy going like a little goading, and predictably, it worked like a charm, got Sammy’s back up. Those hazel eyes met his square.

“I will, Dean, let me handle him.”

_That’s my boy._

“Okay.”

He didn’t trust himself to say anything else, and ‘sides, nothing else needed to be said. They were back to where they needed to be, ready to kick ass and then get the hell out of Dodge.

“Hey, come on…let’s go talk strategy while we wait for the kid to quit sulking.” That said, he turned on his heel and took a step towards the cabin at the center of the campsite, pausing when he didn’t hear his brother’s step immediately follow. Frowning, he cast a glance over his shoulder–

And found Sam rooted to the spot, looking trapped, staring down at the ground, shifting from foot to foot, shamefaced.

_Nope. No more of that ‘sorry’ bullshit–_

“Sam?” he tried to keep his voice level, not to bark out a command like some bossy douche, but he couldn’t let his brother sink back into self pity. That didn’t do anybody _any_ good. “Let’s go, man. Clock’s ticking.”

“N-not,” Sam paused and swallowed, and Dean waited patiently until his brother finally lifted his (wounded) eyes to his own. “Not like this, Dean. I smell like…”

_Blood. Earth. Clay and rot._

_Death._

“You’re fine.”

“No…I smell awful and I look worse. Like…”

_Some animal tore you apart? While I stood there, helpless, watching?_

“Not in front of Mom and the others, okay?”

Dean ran a hand down his face, biting his tongue. Now was not the time for some kind of ‘princess’ remark, and besides, he had to admit he hated the sight of all that blood as well. The clear, tangible reminder of his failure, his worst nightmare.

“Alright, Sammy. Follow me.”

*****************************************

Turns out one of the resistance fighters, guy named Jeff, was roughly the same size as Sam, and he offered him a change of clothes.

Dean grinned at his brother, waggling his eyebrows in jest as he handed over the shirt and camo jacket. “Bet you never expected Apocalypse World to have another Sasquatch like you, huh, Sammy?”

That earned him a bitch face, one of the classic ones to boot, and Dean’s chest felt lighter just at the sight of it. _Yeah,_ that was the little bitch he knew and loved. He sobered.

More than anything. 

Any _one_.

Ever.

_Nope. Zip it up, asshole._

“Be right back. I’m gonna get you some water.”

He ducked out of the cabin before he said or did something stupid and rustled up a basin and a cloth so Sam could wash up a bit. One of the guys even offered a small sliver of soap, which Dean felt bad for taking, but knowing Sam as he did, he’d welcome the chance get truly clean. His boy _was_ a bit of a princess, when all was said and done. He wouldn’t say it so much if it weren’t _true_ , after all..

When he ducked back in a few minutes later, he found Sam standing in the center of the room, holding his jacket in his hands, twisting the fabric between his big paws in an absent, angry manner. Mouth curved down, throat bobbing with emotion.

“Hey, hey…give me that.” He set the basin and soap down on the table and took the stiff, tacky jacket from his hands, tossing it on the table without a second glance. Got to nip that shit in the bud.

“Come on, Sammy.” He gestured to Sam’s filthy torso, his mud covered legs. “Off with it.”

Sam looked up at him then, his eyes a dark, muddied green and bearing the weight of the world in their depths. 

“Dean…I can…I can still _feel_ it.” His voice, already rough, dropped another octave and started to tear at the edges, tears building in the corner of his soulful eyes. “Her teeth. The one that b-bit me–”

Dean took three strides across the room and grabbed hold of his brother, crushed him close again and wrapped his arms around him, again, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, couldn’t possibly respond in any other way.

“Sam…” He felt the hot sting of tears. Dammit, not _now_. “Come on, man…don’t. Just… _don’t_.”

“I can s-still...”

And those long, lean arms closed around him in return, as if helpless to the impulse, and his brother dragged him closer until he could feel the bones of Sam’s sternum slide and the slot into place under his, until it felt like their ribs closed together like the teeth of a zipper, a perfect fit. He felt Sam swallow, felt the tell-tale bob of his Adam’s apple against the side of his throat.

“Dean.”

He heard the soft, broken whisper of his brother’s voice, so much emotion packed into one word, one well-worn syllable, as if they carried all the world in their utterance. And just like that, Dean was back in the cave, watching helplessly as Sam was attacked, savaged by filthy animals, dragged away like easily bagged prey, a windfall blood meal.

He couldn’t. “Sammy…” God, it hurt so much. 

“ _Dean_ …”

He grabbed the back of Sam’s head, pulling his brother’s face closer to his own, his forehead to his, and Dean closed his eyes and gripped tight, winding his fingers in the long dark strands of Sam’s hair, soft and thick in his hands. He pulled back and and lifted his chin, pressing his mouth to the broad, clear expanse of Sam’s forehead, laying a gentle, hesitant kiss there. Like it was sacred ground, sacred flesh, and his soft kiss a benediction.

“ _Sammy_...”

Another kiss, and then another, and another, until his mouth drifted lower, hovering for a heated moment before pressing a kiss to the fringe of his eyelashes, to the sharp, high arch of a cheekbone. He couldn’t seem to stop, didn’t know what the hell he was doing, or why it felt so vital, so necessary. 

His other hand rose up to grip the side of Sam’s neck, the long, elegant curve, thumb slotting into place in the hollow where his pulse beat fast and quick, strong and fierce. 

_Alive. He's alive._

“D-dean…what are you… _what..._ ”

“Shh…shh…” Dean whispered, mouth drifting lower, until his breath tangled and twined with his brother’s, until he could taste his breath, feel the gentle damp push of it against his own mouth, a minuscule distance between them. So small, really, it seemed absurd not to close it–

So he did.

His tilted his head, mouth slanting over his brother’s as he closed that last gap between them, his mouth sliding into place against Sam’s like it was meant to, like it had happened so many times, so many ways, before. When he felt the soft flesh of his brother’s mouth, return his press, at _last_ , he drew a deep breath, inhaled what Sam gave him, a startled gasp, and when Sam jerked and started to pull away, Dean only tightened his grip and drew him back.

“Let me, Sammy.” He whispered, urgent and tense. “Please. _Let me…_ ”

Sam groaned, shivered in the tight enclosure of his arms. “D-dean. Why are you do…why…”

But Dean stopped the flow of words with another desperate press of his mouth, this time pulling the swell of his brother’s bottom lip between his own, tugging softly, pulling it back to wet it, then tasting it again. And again.

“They can’t have you, Sammy.” He continued in a ragged whisper when he paused to draw breath. “Hear me? _They can’t **have** you_.”

He couldn’t seem to speak in anything but a whisper, he just didn’t seem to have the strength, loathe to break the hushed, reverent quiet between them.

“ _Okay_ …” Sam answered, just as desperately. “ _ **Okay**_.”

Dean shuddered, his hands loosing their grip on his brother's neck to slid down the long slender flanks of Sam’s torso, checking for cuts, bruises, hidden injures on the way, just as he aways did after a bad hunt or when things fucked up. But it was different this time, less evaluative and more...appreciative. He couldn't seem to stop touching his brother any more than he could stop kissing him, his mouth now moving in an arc along the line of his brother's sharp jaw, tracing a path to his ear and the base of his throat. He pressed more kisses there, where that (monster) thing bit him, relishing the feel of whole, unmarred flesh, unmindful of the cold, coppery taste of dried blood. 

He hands stopped their inspection once he reached hem of his Sam's tacky, crusted shirt.  
And that bitch needed to come off _yesterday_ if he had anything to say about it. He slipped his hands beneath the filthy fabric to tug it away from his brother's body only the temptation of all that skin too much to bear. He couldn't stop his hands from sweeping over Sam's ribs, his flat, hard stomach, or from trailing down to the soft tickle of hair just above his waistband.

“ _Dean_...” Sam groaned, and then shuddered when the tips of Dean's fingers dipped just under the elastic hem of his boxers, seeking (previously) forbidden territory. “W-what are you _doing_?” Sam had dropped his voice to a whisper as well, as if he were concerned they would be overheard, as if they were sharing secrets, like they used to when they were boys. And this was a secret, Dean thought, something just between the two of them, and no one else. _For_ no one else.

Dean smiled gently against his brother’s swollen, soft mouth, sucking gently on the pink flesh before pulling away with a soft smack, but not too far. “ _Checking for injuries, Sammy_.” He whispered back. “ _Gotta make sure you’re okay, little brother_ …” he replied, glancing up into his brother’s eyes. Needing to see what was there, needing his brother to see whatever was there in his own.

And Sam’s eyes darkened further, more black than green or blue or gold, and he was breathing heavy, a sleepy, almost drunk look on his face, but it was struck through with a touch of wonder, incredulity, and…need. 

A hell of a lot of need.

 _Fuck yeah_.

He bent forward for another kiss, but Sam surprised him by pulling back and threading his long fingers with Dean’s own where they lay still against the tight, sharp jut of his hips. Sam drew a deep breath and then dragged their linked hands upwards, over his hard chest, all that solid, whole flesh, never looking away all the while, his eyes sweeping over Dean’s face with love, affection, bewilderment, before he licked his lips and glanced down at Dean’s mouth and stopped there, seemingly fascinated.

“ _Better be sure then_ ,” Sam answered quietly, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tilting the corner of his mouth, one dimple indenting the line of his cheek.

“ _Oh, I’m gonna be **thorough**_ ,” Dean promised, equally hushed, gripping the hem of Sam’s ruined shirt and dragging it up and off over the jut of Sam’s shoulders. He tossed the shirt to the dirty floor and got his hands back on all that skin not a second after, his hands gliding, sweeping in a leisurely tour of bone, muscle, and warm, living Sam.

“ _Do the job right_ ,” he added, reaching down for the fly of Sam’s jeans, all the blood in his body running south the moment that he popped the first button and Sam gasped like a man on fire, lips parting and his lashes lowering to hide his gaze, his long, elegant limbs trembling, the flat lines of his belly jumping under his touch.

“ _ **Dean**_...” Sam growled. Honest to god _growled_ , and Dean gave himself a mental fist-pump even as he shuddered in response, his dick going so hard, so fast, he was almost dizzy with it. Fuck-this was _awesome_. Why had they never done this before?

He bent forward–

“Hey, Winchester!" Someone bellowed. "Where are you? I’ve got some news you gotta hear!”

It was Jeff, the other giant of their acquaintance. He was close and coming closer. Heading toward the cabin. Would be upon them any second now.

Sam and Dean jumped apart, moving quickly and silently like they’d been taught, gathering their wits and their feet under them, prepared for anything, as if this were an ambush and not a mere interruption of their privacy. Sam turned his back to the door and Dean scrambling to sit down on the rickety chair by the table, crossing his legs to strike an unconcerned, casual pose. (And to his the obvious tent in his pants.) 

“You guys in there?” Jeff hollered, “I need to talk to you.”

“Fuck,” they swore in unison, with feeling, and their eyes caught and met for one long, interminable moment before Jeff came bursting through the door, breaking through their moment, flush with his news. He started up an excited stream of words, but not before Sam and Dean shared one last, weighted glance between them, that said everything they needed to say to each other. Everything that mattered:

 _Later_.


End file.
